


laughing in the rain

by explodinganyway



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/F, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/explodinganyway/pseuds/explodinganyway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I think you are beautiful and I would like to kiss you. I can think up some clever lines, if you'd prefer. But I wanted to say that, first. / LJ ficathon prompt</p>
            </blockquote>





	laughing in the rain

**Author's Note:**

> an anonymous prompt from LJ's current Community ficathon. prompt quote is from asofterworld comics, lyrics from Blue Eyes by Elton John. sorry it is rough, I banged it out.

You've gotten nervous about talking to Annie recently. It's not in the _wow you're so much smarter than me and I think that you will think I'm stupid_ way like when the study group had first formed (You're not intimidated by anyone it's just...well you hate feeling stupid and old and awkward and so it's not intimidation, just respectful distance); but more of a nervousness. You don't like the way when you meet her eyes you stumble over your words, the way her hair feels between your fingers as you braid it, the way you feel the blood from your fingers race up to pool into your cheeks.

It's not that you're against homosexuality, it's just that you don't think your chest is supposed to feel quite so fluttery when her hand brushes yours (on the way to History, when you buy her a coffee, when Pierce nearly gets you all killed). It's not necessarily a problem, it's just no one can know ever and it's not because you're homophobic and it's not even because you're straight it's because it's _Annie_ , and somehow that word carries inflections that run along the lines of never ever ever because of the group and the Jeff thing and how it turned into a thing completely without Jeff and you can actually feel how much it feels like a disaster about to happen.

So of course you make sure it detonates.

It's not your fault; you tried so hard to ignore the stammering and blushing and the whole thing that's happening in your stomach it's just... _Annie_. And someone that carries an inflection of how come it all comes back to her, everything you do, and that you’ve never committed to anything but you have gone to the mall, or the park, or the movies with Annie every second weekend since your first year at Greendale. When you think of that Annie (because needs-to-work-always Annie is one thing but your Annie is another) you think of frappucinos and hot chocolate clinging to a lip, Bon Iver and Radiohead warring from track to track on mix CDs, pale skin between a skirt and top. At some point in the four years though, your Annie melded into Greendale Annie; mannerisms and laughs and blue blue eyes taking down barriers that an insane want to be perfect put up. (It’s not that you don’t like that drive, it’s just that you’ve seen that determination used to fuel so much more than simply _school work_ and you also don’t like your name mixed in with that whole work thing.)

It’s just she wears a pair of jeans that you had spent all of Saturday finding and that makes her ass look _amazing_ and then it’s that—the whole realising that you’ve already checked out Annie’s ass as she carries history books in big pile and she’s looking at you over her shoulder, lips quirked in an almost-flirty smile and blue eyes and yeah, you’re not fooling anyone.

You stumble your way to class and ignore Abed’s confused look at your clasped hands. (You’re confused as well but it’s hidden beneath fluttering in your stomach and blushing and you’re painfully obvious with all of this.)

“Hey Britta!” Annie calls out before you head into study room and it takes you right back to your first year and your dire need to impress this young, bubbly girl (but really? Turning it into a snake? You weren’t impressing anyone). She smiles as you turn around and you can’t even pretend to be surprised that you’re smiling already, she kind of brings it out in you.

“I don’t really feel like going out this weekend.” You’re not sure if your smile has ever slipped so obviously and you are annoyed at yourself for showing that you care that much but also, it’s _Annie_ (it’s-no- a-very-good-triangle-if-only-two-lines-meet Annie). You think she preens a little at your obvious want for her around and it’s just you forget that Annie was ever unpopular, ever alone, ever anything other than pretty much wanted around all the time. “Can we just have a day at your place?” she asks instead and you find that the oncoming disaster isn’t quite as terrifying as it really should be. (Ready, ignite, bang.)

Annie shows up at your door that Saturday morning and you realise you’re screwed when, on Friday night, you had consciously made a decision not to drink so you wouldn’t be even the smallest big hung-over. (You had gotten annoyed at yourself then for watching a romantic comedy and feeling-eat ice cream from the tub.) It means you see her properly though, no headaches or dizziness or bleary eyes to counteract how—sunshine—she is. It’s probably not fair actually, that she looks this happy and put together and literally, her smile is blinding and beautiful and everything is blue like her eyes and you’re maybe getting what all those country songs are talking about.

(Baby’s got blue eyes  
like a deep blue sea)

It’s mid morning before you work up the courage, and it’s all in a rush and without a plan and you have far more courage than words in your head and honestly, it’s really not helpful. You turn to face her and hope that your brain comes up with _something_ but you have a brain worm, or you caught a mind melting disease or a bug bit you and you’ve been paralysed and when words do finally come out, (Annie is looking on politely but amusedly) they come in a rush and with about as much eloquence as the rest of your life has (read: none) and if the words are not romantic then the room is even less so. (Dirty clothes and dishes from brunch and cat toys and cats and the faint smell of weed.)

You’ve just opened your mouth and out fell ‘ _I think you are beautiful and I would like to kiss you’_ and you Britta’d it so much that you actually know what to do now. (There’s a certain amount of damage control one acquires when one’s name means ‘to make a small mistake’.)

“I can think up some clever lines, if you'd prefer, but— ”And you watch her slowly growing smile, her blue eyes.

(Baby’s got blue eyes  
Like a clear blue sky)

“I wanted to say that first.”

Her lips meet yours (or at least her lips meet your cheek and it’s cute in its exuberance, and you smile and move slightly to the right) and you think that maybe maybe maybe, the sky outside just got a lot brighter and the butterflies in your stomach are having a rave and your blood doesn’t know where to go but your fingers do; one hand on her cheek and the other on the pale skin between skirt and top.

(Baby’s got blue eyes  
And I am home again)


End file.
